Wings Poem by Sherry Asbury

Wings and Things

Mind askew.
Droplets of blood that I rub into my soul
trying to feed the hungry beast that searches
for a glimpse of his face.
Unhealed broken bones grind against each other
in coitus denial, little bits breaking off still.

Ribs broken into kaleidoscopic monuments
rattle as breath struggles for a foothold.

Humpty Dumpty listens for the King’s men
that are not coming - this day or the next...

Rise up, woman and celebrate your
eleven years without an E.R. visit to be had.
Celebrate your freedom and your empty arms
and cold, lonely bed.

Reborn virgin hunkered down in dark cave,
waiting.

Keep high those walls insanity constructed
so carefully, each stud secure and fastened
to keep him out? Or keep you in?

Broken bird afraid to fly, cannot go beyond
the door anymore. Much safer that way...
for a little bird told her she would fold like
a broken accordion, should her eyes meet his.

On broken wings bird would fly to embrace
the thunder circus of flying fists, hatred born
of his inability to know love in a kind way,
of his frustration - being smart enough to know
what a lousy, addicted pathetic thing he is.

Today the drapes are shut, the door locked fast.
Wings rubber-banded to self, humming softly.